


Neil Sedaka Sings White

by ExcessSummer



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, Neil Sedaka
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExcessSummer/pseuds/ExcessSummer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie White’s story as he falls in love with Meryl Davis – as encapsulated by Neil Sedaka’s timeless classics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neil Sedaka Sings White

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, Merlie fans!
> 
> I grew up listening to Neil Sedaka (among others, but he was one of my favorites) warbling from an old turntable, and I remember how they always somehow managed to evoke feelings of happiness, visions of young love, and (at that time) the unfathomable mystery of pain because of it. Over time, of course, that turntable wore down and our records warped – but I still loved Neil Sedaka, and was overjoyed to have discovered (quite recently) that some kind soul had actually uploaded a whole collection of his best songs onto YouTube. Listening to them again has allowed me to become reacquainted with a childhood favorite, and this time my fondness is not only because of the visions of happy, young love that it evokes – it’s also because they help me remember my father, who loved his songs just as much as I did.
> 
> Even more interestingly, the reintroduction of Neil Sedaka’s songs into my playlist made me realize how fitting his songs were for Charlie White. It wasn’t just the lyrics or the story they told – it’s the perpetual cheer that they both bring that makes me think that Charlie is actually Neil, reincarnated. And – if Meryl is to be believed – just not as good a singer. 
> 
> Thus this fic. I ask for your indulgence in the story that I am about to weave – some of it is canon-driven, some head-canon driven, some fact or interview-driven, but really, much of it would just be from my crazy imagination. Since this really relies on the Neil Sedaka songs I know and love, expect time jumps all over the place, and will range from pre-Sochi to post-Sochi. Any errors come from me, and I do not own any of the characters at all.
> 
> Enjoy, and do post comments when the spirit moves you. Or if Neil Sedaka speaks to you, specifically.

“Charlie!!!” Jacqui White’s voice sounded out through the house, making everyone – including the dogs – nearly jump out of their skin. “Charlie!!!”

Nineteen-year-old Charlie groaned, turning around in bed to deliberately smash his face further down his pillows and hopefully drown out the sound. He was _sleeping_ , for goodness’ sake. Didn’t his mother know that teenaged boys needed all the sleep they could get? 

He heard his door open and his mother’s footsteps enter his room. Screwing his eyes shut as tightly as he could, Charlie braced himself for what he knew his mother would say next.

“Charlie White! You are getting out of that bed, right now, or so help me God I will drag your butt down the street. You promised Cheryl you’d help Meryl get ready for that party for her grandma, and a White promise is a promise kept!”

“Mom –” Charlie tried, sounding muffled with his face still squished onto his pillow, “I don’t know why it’s got to be _now._ I mean, her gammy’s birthday isn’t till _next week,_ and she isn’t even arriving until then. What do I need to help Meryl with?”

“I don’t know, young man. But you said you’d help, and your promise did not come with exclusivity dates or times. So if Meryl says she needs your help, you’ll _give_ her help.” Charlie felt his mother’s hands close over his leg, and the next thing he knew, he was lying, face up, on his carpet, tangled in bed sheets and still holding onto his pillow. 

Jacqui loomed over her son, her face in shadow, but Charlie knew from the way she had put her fists onto her hips that she meant nothing but business. That, plus the fact that she had just pulled him out of bed – literally. He sighed in defeat.

“Fine. Fine. Fine! I’m getting up, Mom. I am."

His mother said nothing, merely standing there.

Charlie pulled himself up into a reluctant sitting position, blinking, rubbing his sore behind as he did so. “See? I’m up. Aw, Mom, that hurt.”

“It was your fault. I warned you, young man.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie said wearily, but under his breath. It wouldn't do to rankle his obviously annoyed mother even further. He got up, pulling the bedclothes with him as he did so, gathering them and depositing them back down onto his bed. He scratched his head. “Where did Meryl say I should meet her, anyway?” _At this ungodly hour_ , he wanted to add.

Jacqui eyed him warily. “Her house. She says wherever you guys need to go is just walking distance.”

Charlie sighed as he shuffled off for the bathroom for a shower. _Great,_ he thought. _Somewhere near her house, and I had to lose sleep for it. It’s just how many minutes away!_ Oh well … whatever it was and wherever they were going, Charlie hoped that it would at least have pancakes.

 

* * *

 

“To a salon?”

Charlie could swear his eyes all but bugged out of his head when Meryl finally told him what she needed his help for. Or, more specifically, where she needed him to be, so that she could get his help.

“Yeah,” Meryl said with a hopeful smile. “I need someone to help me pick a new hair color. Marina’s been saying that I should go with something darker, and I’m thinking – what better time to unveil it than my grandma’s party next week?”

“But … Meryl … a salon – that’s for _girls_.”

“Not like you don’t go to a salon, Charlie.”

“I don’t. I go to a _barbershop_. There’s a difference.”

“Right,” Meryl said doubtfully. “They cut hair. They style hair. Same difference.”

Not the correct argument, obviously. He changed tack. “Fine – but, really, why now?”

“Because – just in case, you know, it comes out disastrous or something, I’ve got enough time to change back.”

Charlie sighed. Leave it to Meryl to have a planned response to every single disaster known to man. Or at least, to teenaged girls. “And your mom can’t be the one to help you?”

“She’s busy preparing for the party.” Meryl shoved her hands into her jeans pockets. “But – you know what, if you don't want to go with me …”

“I didn’t say I didn’t _want_ to go with you, Mer,” Charlie said quickly, “But I’d have thought that when you asked for help from me you needed someone to do some lifting of stuff or … I don’t know, grilling something?"

Meryl chuckled. “Dad’s got those covered.”

“I guess so.” Charlie threw his hands up in defeat. “Alright, fine. Let’s go to this salon of yours. How long is it gonna be for?”

“Last time I tried dyeing my own hair it took me two hours.” Meryl shrugged. “But since we’re going to an expert this time, maybe it’ll be shorter.”

 _Or not_ , Charlie thought, but did not say aloud. After all, his mom was right – he promised to help, and a White promise was a promise kept. Even more importantly, he promised Meryl, who was not only his skating partner but also his friend for almost a decade now. Surely he could bear sitting in a salon for two hours if needed.

“Well then, let’s go get that hair color,” Charlie said, gesturing towards the door. “After you, ma’am.”

 

* * *

 

Charlie’s behind was more than a little sore after sitting on the supposedly comfortable waiting chair in the salon. Meryl had gone in a little over two hours previous, but not before she had excitedly pulled him towards the displays of hair coloring products and asked him anxiously what might look good on her.

In truth, Charlie had no idea what might look good on his partner – she’d been blonde since he’d met her, and he liked it well enough. But apparently to be even more competitive than they already were in the ice dancing world she needed to ‘go dark and dramatic’, or so Marina had insisted, so they quickly got to the browns section and squinted and laughed as Meryl lifted the thin tufts of fake hair to her head and asked Charlie what he thought of it. Eventually the head stylist, who fawned over how cute they looked together (“Oh, no, sir, we’re not together _together_ ,” Meryl said, looking slightly flustered as the stylist merely laughed and said, “Oh, honey – don’t worry! When I’m done with you, I can promise you, you’d be together _together_ anyway!”), came and bustled off with Meryl, disappearing with her without so much as Charlie’s advice or opinion. 

Charlie looked at the stack of magazines beside him, which were all about women’s clothing and nail color, and sighed for the hundredth time. Not only was his behind killing him, he was hungry and bored – a terrible combination.

He stood up and walked over to the receptionist, who smiled at him. “Uh, miss –” he began, “I – my friend is inside and getting her hair all colored and stuff, but I want to go out and walk around for a bit before I drive myself insane, so –” 

“—you want me to tell her that you are coming back shortly and that she should wait.”

“Hey, yeah!” Charlie smiled back at the kindly woman. “You’re good at your job.”

The lady laughed brightly and shook her head. “I’ve been at this long enough to have seen a lot of restless husbands and boyfriends waiting is all.”

“Well, I’m not –”

“It’s okay, sweetie, no need to be defensive,” she said, again with a smile. “Don’t worry. Go ahead and take your walk – you’ve earned it, I'd say. Never seen a guy wait for as long as you did. You probably broke some Guinness world record or something.”

Charlie laughed. “Yeah, well, as my mother would say – a White promise is a promise kept.”

“Lucky girl you have,” she replied. “Now, shoo. Come back in maybe thirty minutes. I’m fairly certain she’d be done by then.”

 

* * *

 

About thirty-five minutes and a power bar later, Charlie walked back into the salon, hoping to see Meryl done and ready to go. The receptionist must have seen the look of disappointment on his face because she grinned at him and, with a wave, called him over. “Hey. I told you – thirty minutes and she’ll be all set. She is – sit down and I’ll call her.”

Charlie let out a relieved breath. _Finally,_ he thought, sitting down. _Maybe now there could be panca –_

But whatever thought it was that Charlie had flew away from his head, because right at that moment Meryl came out through the doors and smiled at him.

Meryl was no longer a blonde.

She was a brunette.

A … wow. A _brunette_.

Meryl laughed nervously as she touched her newly darkened hair. “Uh – hi – I – well … I know it’s kind of different …”

“Different,” Charlie repeated as he stood up slowly from his seat. His whole vocabulary range seemed to have dried up at that moment, his mind having short-circuited about three seconds ago. What was it he was saying, again?

Meryl continued to fidget with her hair, her eyes flitting from him to her hairdresser. “And I know it somehow changes my face …”

“Changes. Your face. Yeah,” he said, dumbly.

“But … do you like it?”

“Like it?” _I freaking love it_ , he wanted to say, but his mouth couldn’t form the words. It was like he was in some sort of trance, either unable or unwilling to shake free. _I love it. I frigging love it._

“Yeah. Charlie, hey. Come on. Tell me honestly. Don’t give me that look.”

If anything, the tremor in Meryl’s tone snapped him back to focus. He blinked. “Wait. _That_ look? What look?”

“Your wait-a-minute-I’m-trying-to-think-of-the-most-diplomatic-thing-to-say look,” Meryl said, and, to Charlie’s horror, he realized that she was on the verge of tears. “You hate it, don’t you? Don’t you?”

 _Shit. Danger, danger!_ “What? Meryl, I don’t –”

“Oh my _God_ , you hate it. You do, I can see it on your face –”

“No! No, Mer! I never said –”

“It makes my face look pale, doesn’t it? Or maybe older? Oh, frick, I already look older than you – does it make me look like your aunt or something?” She covered her face with her hands, her voice choking on a sob. “I knew it, I knew it! That dark walnut wasn’t the –”

“No, no – I love it, Meryl!” Charlie finally blurted out, feeling his face burn. He hadn’t wanted to say that – at least, not in front of so many other people within earshot – but he didn’t want Meryl to come away with the wrong idea.

And it may have been Charlie’s overactive imagination, his hunger, whatever – but he could swear the whole salon had fallen silent, and was listening in on their conversation.

Ah, what the hell.

It was the truth, anyway.

Ignoring their audience, Charlie stepped forward and tugged gently at Meryl’s hands so that they dropped away from her face. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Mer,” he whispered. “I love it.”

Meryl looked up slowly, meeting his eyes with her watery ones. “You … you do?”

“Yeah.” 

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely.” He reached out to touch her cheek, the most fleeting of caresses.

She inhaled, a quick, sharp breath. “Charlie …”

“Definitely. Without a doubt. Yes, yes, by God, yes.” He ghosted a finger over her cheekbone, her chin, her lips. “It's beautiful. _You’re_ beautiful, Mer.”

And it was then that she finally smiled, that tremulous, genuine smile of hers, and Charlie could almost swear that right at that moment he heard the faint twang of a bow, a sudden rush of wings, and a playful chuckle – all in counterpoint to the pinch in his heart and the sudden applause and the chorus of _awws_ and the catcalling that everyone around them suddenly broke into.

Man … was he ever in trouble.

 

 

_Stupid cupid, you're a real mean guy_

_I’d like to clip your wings so you can’t fly_

_I’m in love and it’s a crying shame_

_And I know that you’re the one to blame_

_Hey, hey, set me free!_

_Stupid cupid, stop picking on me._

 

 

 


End file.
